


The Devil's Opera

by lrhaboggle



Category: The Devil's Carnival (Movies)
Genre: Agent, Beating, Crossover, Devil, F/M, GeneCo, God - Freeform, Gore, Graphic, Heaven, Hell, Largo, Parody, Psycho, Punishment, Repo - Freeform, Song - Freeform, Torture, Translation, Translators, Violence, angel - Freeform, thankless job, zydrate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-04-19 16:48:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14241621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lrhaboggle/pseuds/lrhaboggle
Summary: As the title suggests, each chapter is a Repo song "sung" by TDC characters.





	1. Thankless Job

"It's a thankless job," Batez began, dramatically, gesturing to the poor sap who sat tied up in a chair in front of her and her partner.  
"But somebody's got to do it!" Bentz her partner responded, grabbing his nightstick before tossing Batez her own.  
"Beating out the sinners one by one," they sang together, thumping the lad on every beat. "Bashing out the mistakes too!" They cackled triumphantly as the young gladhand pleaded his innocence, but the Translators merely sang over his screams.

"Keeping you from the final fall," Bentz began again, leering threateningly over gladhand who understood the implications.  
"Saving up dictations of your sin," Batez chimed in, placing the good little dictation machine before the trembling boy and shoving the tube and mouth piece in his face.  
"No one ever thanks us when we're done," Bentz added, listening to the boy all but sob his confession into the machine. Never once did he reference how lucky he was to have the Translators to set him right instead of letting him fall. Ingrates.  
"How self absorbed people can be!" Batez rolled her eyes, knowing exactly what Bentz meant. Then they noticed that the gladhand had stopped dictating. Tsk, tsk. Batez and Bentz shared a disapproving glance at the gladhand before their own song continued.

"With a thump!" Batez sang, hitting the gladhand on the left shoulder which sent him reeling to the right.  
"And a bump!" Bentz followed up, hitting his right shoulder and sending him back to the left.  
"Eenie meenie miney moe!" Batez cackled, clubbing a part of the boy's battered body on every word.  
"With a bash!" Bentz said, knocking the boy's head.  
"And a crash!" Batez added, adding another blow. The poor fellow had rivulets of blood flooding down his face. It was amazing he was still awake.  
"Returning angels good and new!" Bentz added, pinching the boy's cheek coldly while Batez gave a mock kiss on the other cheek. He feebly swatted them both away. But of course, the translation carried on. It was like a game to the Translators.

Finally, though, the boy did faint from the pain and his whole upper body was an unrecognizable mass of blood and bruises. Batez grinned sadistically before holding him by his wrists and dangling him along as though he were a puppet.  
"It's a thankless job!" she began.  
"But somebody's got to do it!" Bentz replied.  
"Got to do it!" Batez's voice rose in pitch as she pretended to make the unconscious boy sing. Bentz laughed manically at the sight.  
"Like a mop!" Batez sang.  
"Like a mop!" the puppet sang.  
"And a broom!" Bentz added, eager to see the twisted puppet sing again.  
"And a broom!" Batez did not disappoint, making her voice even squeakier than ever.  
"No one wants a thankless job!" the trio sang in operatic voice, then the Translation finally ended.  
With the translation over and the boy unconscious, the Translators had run out of things to do. Batez let the boy slump over in his seat with a look of disdain and Bentz took her nightstick, swiping clean and tossing it aside. It was a very anticlimactic end to what had been an intense, near psychotic translation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: While comparing Repo to TDC, I realized how much Thankless Job fit the Translators. Do you see it now too?


	2. Hell's Tamer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: This chapter and the next few were requested by inquiete. Hope you like them and thank you for all of your reviews. You're the best!

"Out from the night, from the mists steps a figure. No one really knows his name for sure. He stands at 6'6" head and shoulders!  
Pray he never comes knocking at your door…" Ticket Keeper's raspy voice echoed Hell's carnival. He was not singing to any particular audience. On the contrary, he was singing to all of Hell itself and to any unlucky mortal whose soul had been caught up in the carnival's merciless spokes. The reason he chose such a scary and warning tune for tonight's song was not to inspire fear into his listeners, but instead to warn them of what was coming. He wanted to cry out to them, to beg them to run and hide or to behave and understand the severities of their sin. But no, he knew better. Eons in Hell had taught him that mankind would never change. Not as long as God had the reigns. But as it seemed that God would be in control for quite awhile longer, Ticket Keeper could only warn the damned through songs, hoping against hope that they would hear.

Tonight's song was about his own personal assistant, Tamer. The Tamer functioned as Hell's entire police force, his bear-like physique and temperament keeping carnie and sinner alike in check. Tonight, Ticket Keeper had witnessed some foolish young woman attempting to steal jewelry off of one of the carnival's many stands. It had been a very clumsy attempt, the woman clearly not realizing that she was being watched at all times. Now she was going to pay the price for her sins. The Tamer was coming. If only she would repent! Cast away the jewels and beg for forgiveness! Perhaps she could escape the Tamer's wrath.  
"Say that you once stole a gem or new jewelry," Ticket Keeper rumbled, hoping the words would reach the foolish woman in time. "But you can never manage to pay off eternal debts! He won't bother to write or to phone you He'll just rip the still-beating heart from your chest!" as these words left Ticket Keeper's aged, wrinkled lips, a sound like a knife scraping across stone echoed the carnival.

"Hell's Tamer! Hell's Tamer!" the singers were unseen, even by Ticket Keeper, but that didn't matter. A far more terrible sight was coming. It was Ticket Keeper's assistant himself, in the flesh, torn up and bloody as it was. He walked with a heavy step, lumbering slowly after the unsuspecting woman. As she continued to plunder and pillage, Tamer growled angrily. A Morningstar was slung over his shoulder, its chain rattling ominously.  
Ah! At last! Now the woman noticed him! But too late. She finally caught a glimpse of Tamer's hulking and angry finger out of the corner of her eye and even though she was smart enough to know that she was in serious trouble, she was not smart enough to realize that it was over for her. She tried to run, but her stolen treasures weighed her down. Tamer did not need to increase his speed all that much in order to keep up with her.  
Repo man! Repo man!  
"Now you can run, you can hide, you can try to. But he always has a way of finding you!" Ticket Keeper promised as the woman continued to flee, finally making it out of Tamer's line of sight. But the game wasn't over. No. It was only just beginning. "He will come at your weakest hour, when no one's around who might rescue you!"

"Hell's Tamer, Hell's Tamer!"

At last, the woman managed to escape into what she thought was an abandoned tent. She was breathing hard. If only she could cast aside the jewels! If only she would cast aside all of her earthly vices and sins! Then she would be light enough to escape! But no, clever as this woman was, it never once occurred to her that the only thing preventing her from escape was her own greed, weighing her down.

Tamer appeared suddenly in the opening of the tent. While the woman was still bent over, panting, Tamer continued to move with an eerily slow and confident stride. The woman heard him enter and she looked up, horrified. She began to beg for mercy, or help, anything! But no one was around to rescue her. As her pleas grew more frantic, Tamer only drew ever-closer, finally slinging his Morningstar off his shoulder.

"And none of us are free from this horror," Ticket Keeper sang sadly once Tamer finished his work, leaving behind smashed and torn up remains of what had once been a very beautiful woman. Now, she was scattered about in a squalor of her own blood and gold, lost in her own sin as pieces of her lay scattered across the floor. Tamer had gone, duty finished, but Ticket Keeper remained, inspecting the gory aftermath. "For many years ago, we all fell in debt. New salvation was needed to perfect our image, and until our debts are clear, we will live in fear of old-"

"Hell's Tamer! Hell's Tamer!"

As other, more minor carnies swept in to clean away the mess of the woman, Tamer continued to walk the carnival, his endless rounds still taken with severity and cruel efficiency. It was quite like the circular nature of life itself. As gruesome as this woman's death had been, no one was phased by it. They were all too used to it. It might've been the woman's first time here as an individual, but the story was still the same. It was a soul weighed down by green, sentenced to the lower pits of Hell because she was too heavy to ascend into God's kingdom. Then again, if the rumors were true, things were not much better Up Town than they were here down below. No, none of them would ever truly be free of the horror of God and his twisted creations. They would all perpetually live in fear of sin and so long as sin existed, as did a punishment, as did an avenging angel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: This is pretty self-explanatory. The Tamer is Hell's police force and is after a thief. Ticket Keeper tries to warn her, but she doesn't hear his cries and ends up paying a high price. This does compare Tamer to Repo Man, but both are very mysterious and imposing figures with a very violent tendency and a desire to collect on past dues, and what is a sinner's punishment but retribution for the crimes they committed in life and got away with? Tamer and Repo Man both act as avenging angels, debt collectors. Just pray they never come knocking at your door.


	3. God's 'Grace'

"Wait! Where are we going? Where are you taking me?" Tamara demanded, but her mysterious companion did not reply. Instead, he only continued to drag her through this strange, carnival-esque place. She wanted dearly to stop him and demand a straight answer, but at the same time, she had the feeling that he knew this place far better than she ever would. As suspicious as it was, it meant he was her only chance of escape. If trusting him for a little while was what she had to do, then so be it.

After a brisk jog past several tents, Tamara found herself being dragged into an empty plane.

"What are we doing here? Where are we?" Tamara repeated her question. Then, all of a sudden, someone grabbed Tamara's shoulder. She yelped in surprise and whipped around, jumping back again in fear when she got a look at who it was that had touched her. It was a tiny girl who looked about her age, but her face was covered in white paint, save for a red dot on the nose and mascara running down the cheeks. She had wild dark hair and wore nothing but a leotard.

"How old are you?" she slurred.

"16," Tamara replied, taking another wary step back. The clown-girl gave a laugh that sounded like a hyena.

"I had my first religious fallout when I was 13," she cackled. "Thanks to God's 'Grace', I couldn't feel or remember a thing. A month later? I was turning tricks…" she gave Tamara a horrendous smile before doing a handspring away from her and back towards her companion.

"Eew," Tamara cringed, shuddering in disgust. What had that girl even meant? Religious fallout? God's Grace? She turned towards her companion, hoping he'd have an answer, but when she turned again to find him, he had suddenly been swarmed by a bunch of other clown-freaks. Tamara gasped lightly. Where had they all come from? It was like they'd just teleported in out of thin air. One second, it had just been him and her, and now, there was at least 15 people crawling around him like dogs begging their master for a slab of meat.

"What-?" she began to ask, but her companion only raised his head, gave her a relaxed expression, and hushed her. Then, he turned back down to the clowns crawling all around his feet and he began to purr.

"Drug market, sub-market. Sometimes I wonder why I ever got in. Blood market, love market. Sometimes I wonder why they need me at all!" his face suddenly contorted into a fury as he pushed one of the clowns away, but then the anger was gone as soon as it had come and he whipped out a large bottle of alcohol from his leather jacket. Where had he been storing that?  
"God's Grace comes in a shiny glass bottle!" he sang, looking over at her whilst waving the large bottle high. The clowns suddenly increased in energy, gasping in delight as the glass glittered in the dim, red light.

"A shiny glass bottle?" Tamara echoed in confusion. This was too weird. All she'd wanted was a way home!

"A shiny glass bottle!" the clowns all replied in a creepy unison, painted faces turning to look at Tamara as they said this.

"And that shiny glass bottle pours into a mug oh-so easily and then the God's Grace mug burns all down through your anatomy and when the 'Grace' kicks in, it sparks and you're ready for eternity!" Tamara's companion continued to dance around, pulling mugs out of his coat now too and passing them out to any clown with cash. He filled up mug after mug with his shiny glass bottle and every clown who received some of that alcohol tipped the entire mug back and downed the whole thing within seconds. Tamara, herself, wasn't offered even a single drop, but she could feel it in the air that something was changing. Something psychedelic was happening. All of the clowns looked almost hypnotized as they finished off their drinks and Tamara could almost feel a sleepiness washing over the crowd.  
Suddenly, then, a cruel voice split the air and every head turned to see a new clown joining the party. This clown looked more like a doll, but the closer she got, the more horrific she looked. Tamara could see a score of cracks and cuts running all around the left half of her face and her eye was a frighteningly bright blue. It didn't look real! But her right eye, the real one, was no less haunting. It was far too moving and calculating for Tamara to feel comfortable under its hazel scrutiny. This pale, doll-like woman limped over to Tamara's companion, Scorpion (come to think of it, he'd never given her a name! How odd…) and grinned seductively up at him, tilting her head back sensually. Tamara could hear the sound of more bones (or porcelain?) cracking as she did this.

"Scorpion, Scorpion… Sometimes I wonder if I'll be forgiven. Scorpion, Scorpion. Sometimes I wonder why I need you at all!" her voice became more parched and aggressive as she sang this line, finally grabbing Scorpion by the lapels of his leather coat and pulling him in close. Scorpion didn't miss a beat, spinning her around in his muscled arms.  
"And Painted Doll is addicted to her strife!" Scorpion continued.  
"Addicted to her strife?" Tamara echoed. What did that even mean?

"Addicted to her strife!" the rest of the group confirmed obediently.

"But addicted to her strife, she needs a little help with the agony," Scorpion remarked.

"Agony!" the doll in question echoed, bending backwards in Scorpion's arm and putting a hand over her face in mock distress.

"But that little help comes in a shiny glass bottle in a mug burning through her anatomy," Scorpion told everyone in attendance, whipping out an especially large mug and filling it to the brim with this blood-red drink. "And when the 'Grace' kicks in, my Doll, is ready for eternity!" he cackled and she downed the entire mug within the few seconds it took him to sing this line. The effects were nigh-instantaneous. She began to sway and hum, eyes half shut as she crooned to Scorpion.

"Scorpion, Scorpion… Sometimes I wonder if I'll be forgiven. Scorpion, Scorpion. Sometimes I wonder why I need you at all!"

As the stench of the spirits grew stronger and stronger with every mug downed, even Tamara began to feel a bit woozy. Not a single drop of 'Grace' had passed her pink lips, but she was still feeling its effects and, wow, was it strong! She suddenly felt like she was floating on air, like her physical body had just evaporated away, leaving behind only a soul. It was strange but not entirely unpleasant. Tamara allowed the heavy smell of alcohol and the lightweight feeling of her body to combine in her swirling, spinning head. She could see from the looks of almost-ecstasy from the others that actually drinking this stuff would've produced a far greater effect.

It's clean, it's clear, it's pure, it's rare, it takes you there!" the clowns all murmured in a monotonous chorus.  
"It's what?" Tamara asked.  
"It takes you there," Scorpion replied, presently the only fully sober one still within the crowd.  
"It what?" Tamara repeated. The more she heard herself speak, the more alert and worried she felt.  
"It takes you there," Scorpion repeated as well, still trying to sooth her with a gentle voice and reassuring words.

"After the fall, why agonize? Anesthetize! Cause eternity, eternity, is all we have. Grace changes inside, helps us feel…alive!"

The overall haziness of the group continued and jumbled chorus about feeling 'nothing at all' because there was 'grace for sale' which helped one cope with 'eternity' echoed around the circle of drunken clowns. At last, though, Scorpion whistled out a tune and Tamara had a burst of clarity. It was like hearing those simple few notes had pierced her mind and freed her from the fog.

"Hey, that's Heaven's songs!" she muttered. Bad choice of words.

"Who did that?!" Painted Doll demanded, voice harsh and loud once more.

"She did," Scorpion replied calmly, pointing at Tamara. Tamara looked at him angrily, but before she could speak, Painted Doll lunged at her.

"So you think you got hearts? So you think you got balls? So you think God can sing?" she demanded.

"I don't think nothing at all!" Tamara tried to reassure her, taking a step back, but Painted Doll only took another step forward in return.

"So you think God has pipes?" she shrieked. "Well, it's our turn to shine… When old Lucifer strikes!"

"What are you talking about?" Tamara was mystified. Was she in some Bible Belt state? Because she'd never heard so many Biblical references in one setting, except at the rare church service she attended. Painted Doll gave Tamara a scornful look before tossing her a pamphlet.

"Life's contract's got some mighty fine print," Scorpion explained as Tamara read the pamphlet.

"Some mighty fine print?" Tamara echoed, trying to make sense of the 666 Rules and the War on Heaven.

"Some mighty fine print!" some of the clowns echoed.

"And that mighty fine print puts man in a mighty fine predicament," Scorpion continued. "If one sins and kicks the soul is forfeit but if Satan and Keeper so will it, then our vengeance will come and God'll pay for eternity, eternity!" he continued to chat this concept of Lucifer overthrowing God to rewrite the rules of Hell and who is sent there but then, suddenly, a bear of a man appeared out of nowhere. Seeing him struck fear into the hearts of even the drunkest of clowns and suddenly, it was a mad dash to get out of there. Suddenly, Tamara felt herself begin dragged along by the arm again, Scorpion doing the pulling as he continued to gloat over Hell's plan against Heaven. In the background, Tamara could still hear strains of the drunken song, "I can't feel nothing at all…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: This was a very far-fetched idea, but it's basically TDC Zydrate Anatomy where Scorpion leads Tamara in circles in Hell to confuse her and they end up meeting Wick, Painted Doll, and others. Here, Scorpion is an alcohol dealer, 'Grace' being a very intoxicating type of drink that only Hell can make. It is considered off limits without permission, hence Tamer showing up at the end. It basically behaves the way Zydrate does, giving even the most damned of souls a sense of salvation. It's meant to entice them to war. It's meant to be like a, "So you've tasted Heaven in this little bottle. Can you imagine how much better the real thing is?" type deal. Sorry if it seems a bit forced in some areas, but hey, I gave it a shot (LOL).


	4. Avenger

Agent stood before God's throne room, trembling. He knew he was in for it. Even though his last transgression had been years ago, protesting about June's exile, the wounds were still fresh in his mind and it was showing in his work ethic. He knew God would call him in to "talk" about it eventually, but having to actually go through with it was harder than expected. Worst of all, though, God had decided that the best way for Agent to get over June was to practice casting her out himself, but as she was already in Hell, Agent would be practicing on a June-look alike. That was right. God was going to have him beat up some June-look alike in order to get over the real June. What a sick thing to do! But it was God's orders and Agent had to carry out his instructions to the letter. He had to stay forever faithful to the format… But it still hurt his heart deeply, knowing what God was having him do now. He'd seen this June-clone's files. Her name was Emily and she was, as far as Agent could tell, guilty only of a minor sin. The punishment Agent was expected to give to her was far too high, but did he dare tell God that God was going against his own standards in punishment? No. He didn't dare. So he would obey. He would hurt this innocent girl to please his master. God always came first.

"Dear Emily, I am so sorry, can you forgive me for this?" Agent whispered as he reached God's office doors. They swung open, a billowing breeze beckoning him inward. Incense and hymn tunes were carried on that breeze, but the beauty of it was lost on Agent. All he could smell was decay and all he could hear were dying whispers and desperate murmurs…

"Now, my top angel with the well-used Bible, here's our next conquest, will she live?" God sang out the moment Agent set foot in the room. He looked around. A circular area had been cleared out entirely. In the center of the circle, sobbing and on her knees, was the angel known as Emily. She was begging, crying out to Agent. She had a gag in her mouth, so he didn't know exactly what she was saying, but at the same time, he had a pretty good guess. Then, all around Emily, on the edge of the circle, stood all of Agent's comrades. He saw God standing at the head of the circle, surrounded by Librarian, Designer, Watchword. But where were the-?

"Doubtful!" two eerily cheery voices echoed from behind Agent. He turned his head to see the Translators standing at the door, chewing happily away at their gum while grinning like the psychopaths they were. Agent fought hard not to look at them with all the disgust he felt for them.

"You're the head of God's pets, working his behest!" another voice declared. It was Librarian, standing proud and tall, arms crossed over his large chest. He was looking at Agent with a gaze that seemed to say, "You are the best of us all! Show us how it is done, for it is both your duty and honor to serve the Lord with ALL of your heart…"  
"He'll set you straight, like the Fallen. Ha! You like that?" yet another voice added. It was Designer, kneeling down in front of Emily and grabbing her chin mockingly. Agent had to look away. He didn't like seeming women being manhandled.  
"Better start praying when you see him coming!" God agreed with Designer, making sure to note the irony of praying against one of God's divine judgments. It was sickening to watch.  
"'Cause tonight it's curtains!" one of the Translators declared.

"You're the Avenger!" the other echoed. Agent felt that Translator slap him playfully on the back and, without meaning to, Agent jerked away.  
"Remember who you are," several unseen angels warned Agent when he made this minor error.

"I remember..." Agent replied brokenly.

"Remember what you did to June!" the voices repeated. "Remember who you are."

"I remember..." Agent repeated, just a little bit more desperate than before.

"To your knife!" Librarian interrupted, tossing Agent the golden staff he used to cleanse Heaven's books. As he threw it, it morphed into a golden dagger the size of Agent's forearm. It had a wickedly sharp tip. Emily screamed through her gag when she saw its hungry glow.  
"See it glide!" Batez admired the weapon, stepping closer to Agent.

"See it slice!" Bentz agreed, mirroring his wife's movements.

"Who's your Avenger?" the chorused.

"Hope you've prayed for mercy!" Watchword remarked, daring to take a photo of Emily while Agent stood over her regretfully, knife in hand.

"Or it's buon viaggi!" Designer waved his mirror at the girl.

"He'll reduce you to ashes!" Batez encouraged. The knife Agent held seemed to glow brighter as she said this, like it was responding to the idea.  
"Am-pu-ta-tion!" Bentz cheered. He and his wife could wait no longer. They began to physically push Agent forward, but he resisted.

"Remember who you are!" God warned, finally speaking up after watching most of the proceedings in a gloating silence, reveling in the terror of Emily and the guilt and shame of Agent.

"I remember," Agent promised lowly, looking at his feet.

"Remember what you did to June!" the unseen angels sang. In the back of his mind, Agent realized he was hearing his own thoughts being sung aloud. It was also then that he realized that they sounded just like June and that other girl that always hung out with her. Wasn't her name Cora? Or something like that? Even though Agent hardly knew Cora, he knew what pain he'd caused the girl the moment he allowed June to fall to Hell. It seemed that her voice was condemning Agent for his inaction just as much as God and all of his comrades were.

"Remember who you are!" God repeated the longer Agent stood about, refusing to do away with Emily like he was supposed to. How was that boy, his top man, supposed to get back to serving him if he couldn't stop moping about that little filly who had barely even lasted a day in Heaven? This had to stop and it had to stop NOW.

"I remember," Agent promised again, louder now.

"Remember what you did to June!" Agent's conscience, in the voices of Cora and June herself, echoed. This painful back and forth between God, Agent and Agent's own psyche carried on for a bit longer before Agent finally fell to his knees in defeat.

"I REMEMBER!" he wailed. "I remember every dying whisper, every desperate murmur. I remember as I gaze upon her, she looks just like June... I remember! I remember...!" Agent forced himself to swallow down all feelings of pity and empathy. He tried to force himself to go back to that night when he lost June. This time, though, she was no victim. She was the instigator! He forced himself to see that awful night with new eyes. This time, he had been a martyr and she, a foolish sinner whose selfish desires would've brought Heaven crashing down. He was trying to shift the blame of that night onto June herself. For better or worse, it was working. His own mental wiring was rewriting what had happened that night and, suddenly, June was the only one to blame for what happened.

"I remember working every sinner with acute precision," Agent growled, bringing out a side of himself that hadn't been needed in nearly 2000 years. It was the True Avenging Angel within him, not just the mild-mannered lapdog that followed God around to heed his every beck and call. Instead, Agent was bringing out the warrior in himself. The champion of God who had conquered hordes of demons in His glorious name.

"I remember every time I hold you, my dear companion!" he spoke to Librarian's dagger and suddenly, it began to glow again, turning into a full sword, gleaming with the golden rays of God's almighty power. Emily began to panic, struggling to get up and run, but being bound and gagged meant that she could barely stand up, let alone run. She did manage to get to her feet, but one of the Translators stepped forward and shoved her back down. She could only look up hopeless into the eyes of Agent and pray that she would find God's mercy and grace. There was none. Instead, all she saw was righteous anger and the divine justice of a ruthless deity. She gave one last piteous moan before Agent brought the burning sword down in a glittering arch of gold.

"I remember…. I DISMEMBER!" he bellowed, cleaving Emily almost entirely in half. "Cause this God's servant gives no anesthetic! Too many sins delinquent gets you Heaven's treatment!" Agent continued to swing his sword, cutting deeper and deeper into Emily's flesh until there was nothing left. Blood flew across the entire length of God's office and God watched, laughing. Librarian had a satisfied expression upon his face while Designer and Watchword both were leering down as their comrade finally lost the last of his sanity. Watchword made sure to snap a few photos to remind Heaven just how lucky they were that God didn't just do this to all of them the moment they sinned. Instead, he would wait until several transgressions. That was mercy right there! The Translators, meanwhile, were almost as crazed as Agent, the smell and sight of blood triggering their most barbaric natures. It was all they could do not just to jump in and help Agent finish what he'd started, but they knew that this was strictly an intervention for Agent. They were not allowed to help in this translation.

"I'm the winged horror on your street corner! Make your mama mourn ya!" Agent continued, still working himself up over Emily's slushed-up remains. His wings had come out from his back in his rage, the last of his control slipping away entirely. All around him, he could hear his comrades cheering and, oh, wasn't it glorious!? They were all singing with him…

"I'm the AVENGER!" Agent finally wore down the last of his temper, sword shrinking back into the simple wand it usually was. It slipped from his hand and hit the ground with a clatter. Everyone was breathing hard. Agent, covered in blood, took a look at the pile of torn red flesh, strands of blond hair mixed in with shredded organ and shattered bone fragments.

Yeah, that's right! She deserved it! The sinner! The dirty, rotten whore! Agent thought cruelly as he admired his handiwork. God, meanwhile, was smiling serenely. His intervention had worked. There was no way Agent would ever spend his nights crying for June anymore! God hadn't seen his top man act that vengeful since one of the mini rebellions against Hell. What an excellent show!

But then, the longer Agent stared at Emily's pile, the more time he had for his sanity and humanity to return to him. Eventually, the full horror of what he had done sank in and it was all he could do not to scream, cry, puke, or just faint. Instead, he forced himself to stand up straight. He looked his God and father dead in the eyes, but said nothing. Instead, he only hoped that the pain and grief would be enough. Then, without another sound, he turned around, turning away from God and from his comrades and from Emily. He turned away from himself and headed towards God's office doors. He left through those doors, ignoring the looks of confusion and worry his comrades were giving him. Instead, he could only hear June and Emily, both screaming out for the help he had so cruelly denied them.

"I remember…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: As you can see, this is TDC Night Surgeon. It's darker than any of the other song crossover fics, but that's for obvious reasons. I have always seen Agent as Nathan, especially if you see TDC 2 as a Repo prequel (God is Rotti, June is Marni, Cora is Mag). This is just how God forces Agent to get over June. It is something brutal enough God/Rotti would do. Oh, and if you notice, Publicist isn't in here. In Night Surgeon, Amber is the only Largo not to attend Nathan's breakdown. I know it's because she had a surgery she needed to get, but I heard someone say that it was because, as evil as the Largos are, Nathan's killing would've been too much for Amber to handle. I wanted Publicist ot be the same way. It's always been my belief that everything he does, all his laughs and smiles, are genuine. He legitimately loves God and Heaven and is totally unaware of the true evil lurking in Heaven's hallowed halls.
> 
> (And this fic does reference the idea that Agent and the others are real Biblical angels with Agent possibly being the Archangel Michael, who was a warrior. Agent is just Michael's toned down form).
> 
> Anyways, just wanted to share this with you. Hope it wasn't too dark or depressing.


End file.
